


Strange Bedfellows

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-26
Updated: 2004-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-01 11:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Lex succumbs to the inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Bedfellows

## Strange Bedfellows

by Nuala

[]()

* * *

A/N: I wrote this pairing to see if it could be done. The answer, as it turns out, is "kind of." Props to Lacey, beta-extraordinaire -- any remaining mistakes are mine, not hers. Also, Versipellis, Obscura, and Blandine for support and Froot Loops. Mwah! 

Warnings: Hint of non-con (in a fantasy). Also, Canadian spellings. 

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to someone else. Please don't sue. 

* * *

Jonathan Kent knew he was a stubborn man. He would describe himself as having firm convictions; Martha, when in a generous mood, would say he was persistent, and pig-headed when she was not. Lex Luthor most likely thought of Jonathan as obstinate, stupidly resolute, a middle-aged hick too set in his ways to change with the times. 

Not that Jonathan cared what Lex Luthor thought of him. Jonathan knew he was stubborn, but he also knew when he was right. Dealing with the Luthors was just a bad idea. Shady business deals, threats and bribes, unapologetic disregard for the environment and community -- the way the Luthors did things went against everything Jonathan loved or respected. 

If one were to inquire whether his own feelings of guilt over Luthorcorp's hold on Smallville affected his attitude towards the Luthors, well, Jonathan would say that he never let his feelings obscure his judgement. 

So when he heard the smooth roar of an expensive car pulling into the yard one day as he was trying to fix the new-fangled irrigation system he and Clark laid down only a week ago, Jonathan forced himself to withhold judgement. 

He succeeded for about twenty seconds, which was the amount of time it took for Lex to exit the car, stroll casually over to lean against the fence, and open his mouth. 

"Good morning, Mr Kent." 

"Clark isn't here, Lex," Jonathan said curtly, not looking up from the non-functional section of pipe. "He and his mother took the truck to Grandville to run some errands. They won't be back for -- dammit!" Jonathan cursed as he lost his grip on the wrench, bashing his hand on the metal pipe. "They'll be gone until dinnertime. Sorry you came all this way for nothing." Lex didn't reply. 

Jonathan wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his work-shirt and glanced up in annoyance. "What do you want?" he growled, his patience worn out. 

"I stopped by to talk to Clark," Lex replied calmly. "But it looks like that pipe is giving you some grief. Can I lend a hand?" 

"No, I can handle it!" Jonathan answered, but Lex had already scrambled up and over the fence, rolling back the sleeves of his mauve button-down shirt. 

"Here." Lex strode to where Jonathan squatted next to the pipe and crouched down beside him. He gripped the heavy wrench, shoulder to shoulder with Jonathan, their tense fists gripping the handle. "Let's try it together." Jonathan stiffened and hesitated for a second. "Mr. Kent, let me help. Please." 

Maybe it was the "please" that did it. "All right," Jonathan muttered, "on three: one, two, three -- unh!" He grunted as he threw his weight into the wrench. He could feel Lex straining beside him, unexpectedly strong and solid. But even under the dual onslaught the valve wouldn't budge, unyielding as stone. 

A second later, though, Jonathan felt the valve ease fractionally. The wrench trembled finely in their combined grip and, miraculously, shifted a tiny bit. Both Lex and Jonathan gripped even harder, fighting the stubborn valve, moving it slowly and relentlessly like a force of nature until it gave suddenly, launching them both to one side. 

Jonathan landed sprawled on his back in the dirt with Lex half on top of him. Winded for a second, he had enough time to register the heat and wiry hardness of the body pressed against his before he shoved Lex away with more force than was strictly needed. He hadn't needed _that_. 

"Just a second," Jonathan said to himself. Grabbing the wrench from where it had fallen, he quickly readjusted the valve to shut off any water flow. Perfect. As soon as Martha and Clark returned from Grandville with the new part, he'd have this thing working in no time. 

"Glad I could help," he heard from behind him. He turned to see Lex, a small smile on his face, getting to his feet. Jonathan noticed that his trousers seat was covered in dirt, and he seemed to have torn a small hole in the elbow of his shirt. He was reminded of the short time Lex had stayed with them after Lionel had kicked him out of the mansion -- not afraid of a little dirt, at least, and never once complained about hard work. 

Annoyed for some reason he couldn't identify, Jonathan again wiped his brow with his sleeve. The sun was intense today. Noticing that Lex's bare head shone with sweat, he pulled a square of cotton cloth from his back pocket. "Uh, here," Jonathan said as he handed it to Lex. 

"Thanks," Lex replied, accepting the hankie and thoroughly patting down his head. "One of the benefits of being bald," he said with that half-smile of his, tucking the soaked material into his pocket. "Easy cleanup." 

Jonathan looked at him steadily. "Look. Lex, I...." He cursed inwardly, fumbling for politeness. "Thanks for your help." 

"You're welcome, Mr. Kent. I'm happy to help you out anytime." Lex's smile crept wide enough to actually show teeth. Jonathan couldn't remember ever seeing him really grin like that. "I'll be going then. Will you tell Clark I stopped by?" 

"Yeah, I will. Thanks again." 

Lex flashed another quick grin, fast and bright as sheet lightning, and swung himself back over the fence. As Jonathan watched, Lex walked to his car, futilely brushing at the seat of his trousers. 

"Wait." Lex stopped and turned back, looking unsure. "Just a sec." Jonathan climbed over the fence, and stood in front of Lex. "Look. Thanks a lot. I don't think I could have moved that darn valve on my own." 

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Kent." 

"Right." Jonathan really didn't know why he was still talking to Lex. Something about the kid was less... Luthor-like today. Or maybe Jonathan was suffering from heat stroke, or something. "Uh, you want some lemonade? I was about to take a quick break." 

Lex hesitated, going utterly still for a second. Then the half-smile returned. "Sure, Mr. Kent. I'd like that." 

"Fine. You go sit in the kitchen. Door's open. Lemonade's in the blue pitcher in the fridge, glasses are in the cupboard left of the sink. I need to put this away," he said, lifting the wrench, "and then I'll join you." 

"Certainly, Mr. Kent." Lex looked as unsure as Jonathan had ever seen him. When Jonathan got to the house, Lex had gotten out the pitcher and two glasses. He sat when Jonathan sat, and they poured and drank in silence. The silence wasn't exactly comfortable -- there was a fine tension between them still, though Jonathan didn't feel angry or irritated like he usually did around Lex. 

Lex looked around the kitchen as he drank, and Jonathan observed Lex: shirt sleeves still rolled up to mid forearm, elbow definitely torn, sweat darkening the creases under his arms, normally pale face flushed, dirt under his manicured nails, leaning in his chair with practiced casualness. 

When they had finished, Lex rose and politely took his leave. Jonathan walked out to the car with him -- no, Jonathan was walking to the barn, and the car happened to be on the way, so he might as well walk with Lex. 

"Thanks again, Lex." 

"Any time. Thanks for the lemonade, Mr. Kent." 

Jonathan realized he was uncomfortable with Lex calling him that. "You can call me Jonathan, Lex." Meeting Lex's startled gaze, Jonathan held out his hand. Lex stared at the outstretched hand just long enough to be noticeable before shaking it. Lex's grip was firm. Jonathan would have thought Lex's hand would be weak, small, soft. While his hands weren't as big as Clark's -- and whose were? -- they were solid and elegant, and calloused in unfamiliar places. These were hands that knew how to do work, and Jonathan respected that. 

Jonathan nodded once and turned to the barn. He didn't look back as he heard the car door open and close and the finely-tuned engine roar to life and move off down the lane with uncharacteristic restraint. 

Maybe Lex wasn't so bad after all, mused Jonathan. Maybe he just needed a good influence, a stable role model to look up to. Jonathan shook his head. Lex probably would have forgotten all about their encounter by the time he got to the mansion. 

* * *

Lex barely registered the drive home, high on some strange emotion. He didn't want to believe that such scant scraps of approval from Jonathan Kent could have such a profound effect on him. Was he so desperate, so pathetic? 

He couldn't deny that he had always wanted the man's acceptance. He still remembered with astonishing clarity the moment they met. Even after the confusion and fear of the accident, the withheld handshake had stung. Lex had watched Clark, wrapped in Jonathan's sturdy work jacket, walking away with Jonathan's arm draped protectively around him -- cared for, looked after. Lex had shivered despite the bright red blanket they had given him. 

How many times had he noticed the Kent family's idyllic closeness? Lex wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't witnessed it himself. Their intimacy was almost inconceivable outside the realm of fiction, yet he knew that it was real and ran deep. 

Their genuine familial bliss was still hard for him to grasp sometimes. He was usually able to contemplate his own family life -- or lack thereof -- with indifference. Self-pity was one luxury he could not afford. His mother was dead; his father was manipulative at best, abusive at worst. Everyone he had ever thought really loved him had abandoned him. This was acceptable, even desirable -- if anything, it had made him strong, impervious, independent. 

No matter that his soul-deep craving for his father's affection and approval made him vulnerable to Lionel's manipulations; no matter that his weakness for professed devotion had nearly undone him more than once; no matter that he held the faded memories of his mother's love in his mind like precious things. These things didn't matter: they were lessons in self-sufficiency. 

Trouble was, thought Lex as he strode through the halls of the mansion, the Kent family seemed to have the power to cancel out these lessons. Martha's undemanding acceptance made his heart ache. The motherly concern she occasionally directed at him nearly broke him. And he truly believed Clark's friendship was genuine and artless, a rare thing in his life. 

Still, he endured. He always thought of Martha with a kind of aloof fondness that buffered him from her maternal warmth. He maintained enough distance from Clark to study him as dispassionately as he would any interesting specimen. 

However, he still hadn't figured out how to handle Jonathan Kent. Today, Jonathan's reluctant gratitude and a few moments of awkward contact had completely undone him. Straining, side by side, struggling with a faulty valve, Jonathan's gnarled brown hands pressed close to his own pale hands... there was something there, obscured by their history of antagonism, but something. Lex was sure of it. He had felt it again in their parting handshake, felt Jonathan's fingers smooth over his fencing calluses in an unconscious caress, as though mapping them. 

Lionel's fingers always seemed to move, spider-like and grasping, when he touched anyone. It made Lex's skin crawl, and he cringed at the sense-memory of stick-like fingers clutching his shoulder or scraping his cheek. 

Jonathan's touch was some kind of opposing force. Strength without oppression, closeness without fear, sensuality without perversion. It was incredibly addictive. 

Reaching his office, Lex uncapped a bottle of water and drank deeply. It felt empty after the tart crispness of the Kents' lemonade. What he needed was a long, cool shower and a change of clothes. Dried sweat formed a sticky film on his skin, stiffened the fabric under his arms. The shirt was ruined anyway, and probably the pants too. He hadn't even considered what his dirty pants had done to the seat of the Aston he had driven today. Wasn't even sure he really cared. 

This was unacceptable. He had to figure out how to deal with Jonathan Kent, how to control his reactions, how to establish his dominance in their ... relationship? Friendship? Temporary ceasefire? He had to do something to undermine the power Jonathan had over him, or might have, or could have. 

Lex sighed, and with one hand slowly pulled the damp handkerchief from his pocket. He noted, with wry amusement, that its standard black-and-white pattern was on a pale lilac background. Almost against his will, he brought the material close to his face and inhaled. He could almost touch the sun-warmed body next to his, arching and tense, before falling into it, practically feel the accelerated heartbeat that may or may not have been his own. 

He set the bottle down with a dull thud. Clutched the handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist. This was absolutely unacceptable, and something had to be done. 

* * *

A storm had blown up overnight, washing down some of the previous day's hot dust. By midmorning, however, it was even hotter than the previous day. Jonathan hid from the sun's heat in the barn, fixing bits of machinery and sharpening knives for Martha's kitchen. 

After the worst of the afternoon heat had passed, Jonathan took the truck out to the back quarter to do some spot repairs on the fence there and post some more "No Hunting" signs. By the time he was nearly finished, clouds had gathered in the sky and the air shimmered with the promise of rain and a cracking thunderstorm. 

The road along the back quarter was little more than two ruts with some gravel tossed on for show, out of sight of human habitation and going nowhere in either direction. Jonathan could hardly have been more surprised to see one of Lex's sleek cars rolling toward where he was parked. 

He hadn't really given much thought to their little encounter yesterday. He hadn't talked about it to Martha, and had only mentioned it briefly to Clark to let him know Lex had stopped by. 

He wasn't sure why, but thinking about it made him uncomfortable. He'd helped out when Jonathan needed an extra pair of hands; Jonathan had thanked him, given him a glass of lemonade, and sent him on his way. Would have done exactly the same thing with anyone else, really. He seemed to be a good kid, once you got to know him. But a part of Jonathan was still afraid Lex would try to exploit their momentary cease-fire for his own gains. 

"Hello Mr. Ke -- Jonathan." 

"Hi Lex," he replied in a carefully neutral tone. "What can I do for you?" 

Lex didn't answer, avoiding Jonathan's gaze. "How's that pipe working?" 

Jonathan grimaced. "Actually, it's not. After you left, it started acting up again, even after Clark replaced the gasket. I think the entire section of pipe's a lost cause." 

"That's too bad." The silence felt awkward. Lex finally said, "I brought back your handkerchief." 

"My what?" 

"Your handkerchief. Here." Reaching into his long jacket, Lex pulled out a square of light purple cloth. He stepped forward and pressed it into Jonathan's hand. Just then the first fat drops of rain started falling. 

"Oh. Right." Jonathan fingered the material. It was stiff, like it had been dipped in watered-down glue and hung out to dry. "What the hell did you do to it?" 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"It's hard." Jonathan frowned. 

"I imagine my housekeeper starched it. Is that a problem?" 

"You starched my sweat rag?" 

"More effort than a bit of cheap cotton deserves, I suppose, but it does look better this way." Lex cocked his head and smirked. "Surely this isn't the first time you've encountered starched fabric, _Jonathan_." 

Lex's half-smile was mocking as he slurred the name. Jonathan carefully breathed through his nose, trying to stay calm, as he stuffed the thing into his back pocket. The rain was coming down harder now. Damn Lex to hell. Jonathan knew he'd been right about Lex. The jerk didn't need a role model, he needed a good hard smack on his bald head. Barely managing to contain his irritation, he spat out, "Was there anything else, _Lex_? I'd like to get back before the storm gets going." 

"I wouldn't want to keep you from coming in out of the rain." 

Again, the sarcastic tone. Jonathan spun on his heel, got into the truck and slammed the door as the rain began pouring down in sheets. He clutched the steering wheel in helpless rage, trying to calm himself, as he watched Lex saunter back to his car. 

Jonathan turned on the ignition, spun the truck around, and got about fifteen feet before he encountered Lex's damn car. Which was sitting sideways in the middle of the road. And not moving. 

Jonathan cursed under his breath. The opposite direction was the long way around. Was Lex deliberately baiting him again? 

Through the haze of the falling rain, he could barely see Lex inside the car, pale skin and dark coat. He could see the car's front wheels spinning dirt and rainwater into a thick, slippery ooze. 

Perfect. Just perfect. Jonathan put the truck in neutral and contemplated his options. He ought to just turn around. It'd be another ten minutes in the truck, but the little jerk deserved to sit there in his fancy car while he waited for Triple A or some servant to come and rescue him. 

Still. He was only a kid -- and he needed help. 

Jonathan sighed. Of all the times for his soft side to emerge. Muttering under his breath, he turned off the ignition, pulled his jacket tight and opened the door. 

Lex was still spinning mud. Jonathan jogged over and tapped on the driver's window. The rain was sluicing down the smooth glass. "Hey! Lex!" 

The window rolled down a fraction of an inch. "What?" Lex shouted. 

"Don't rev the engine, you'll only dig yourself in deeper. Give it a little gas, try to rock yourself out of it. I'll push from behind." Jonathan went to the back of the car, not waiting for an answer. He planted his hands broadly on the sloping back end of the car (scornfully noting the licence plate: LEX REX) and braced his feet on the slippery ground. A pale flash of lightning was followed seconds later by the rumble of thunder. He waited for Lex to tap the gas, but nothing happened. 

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Jonathan shouted, though he knew Lex couldn't hear him. 

The engine cut out suddenly. "Now what?" Jonathan asked himself. He was about to walk around to see what the trouble was when the driver's door opened and Lex stepped out into the pouring rain and walked toward him. 

He wasn't expecting it, and so was shocked motionless when Lex came right up to him and grabbed two fistfuls of Jonathan's soaking jacket. 

"I don't need your help!" Lex was yelling over the sound of the rain and thunder. I am certainly capable of taking care of MYSELF!" Lex was practically screaming into Jonathan's face. He could feel Lex's hot breath even through the cold rain. "Just LEAVE ME ALONE!" 

Now Jonathan was really angry. He was soaked to the skin and late getting home because he'd decided to help this ungrateful young snot. Well, fine. He was leaving now, after one parting shot. "Now who doesn't know to come in out of the rain?" 

Lex's face twisted in rage, frightening it its intensity. In the next flash of lightning he looked almost demonic. With a gutteral snarl, Lex grabbed Jonathan by the front of his jacket and shoved hard. His strength still took Jonathan by surprise despite having seen it in action on his own farm, and he fell heavily against the car's trunk. Lex's hands were still fisted on his jacket, and the young man stumbled against him as he hit the car. Jonathan's hands instinctively gripped Lex's hips to steady him. He found himself with Lex's body pressed along the entire length of his. Their faces were only inches apart. 

Jonathan froze. The rain fell around them in thick waves, and Lex's breath ghosted across Jonthan's lips. Lex was staring into Jonathan's eyes. Jonathan stared back, confused and angry. He was still shocked enough to remain motionless. But when the rain eased suddenly, like a faucet had been turned from "full-on" to "trickle," Jonathan came to himself. He shoved Lex off and all but ran to the truck. He got in, turned the key, and drove off in the opposite direction at a distinctly unsafe speed, spraying mud and gravel. 

He took the long way home. When he got in, Martha and Clark assumed that his black mood was just because of his soaked condition. After a change of clothes and some of Martha's soup, he felt a bit more like himself. 

He was never, ever going to deal with Lex again for any reason. The kid was just creepy-creepy, untrustworthy, spoiled, and amoral. Not to mention he was obviously starved for attention from a father figure. Come hell or high water, Jonathan thought as he watched the blue sky creep back, he would do everything in his power to avoid meeting Lex Luthor ever again. 

* * *

Lex was in a foul temper when he finally got back to the mansion. One phone call, and his people had come to retrieve him and his thoroughly swamped car. The car would be fine -- a quick tow, wash and wax, and it would be good as new, though Lex knew he would probably never drive it again after today. 

Lex himself was far from fine. He snarled at the servants until they scurried to get away from him. They would leave him alone for now, unless he actively sought them out. 

Once in the master suite, he kicked off his muddy shoes and stripped off his sodden clothes. He went into the bathroom, turned on the shower as hot as he could stand, and stepped under the spray. Watching his skin turn pink, he tried hard not to think. Emotions swirled in his brain, confusing and unwelcome. Anger, mostly -- at that goddamn self-righteous Kent asshole, but also at himself for reacting to everything so poorly. Regret, both at his failure to drive Jonathan away in a controlled manner and at the irreversible loss of the man's grudging respect. Frustration at his inability to deal with it all. 

As usual when Lex was angry and confused, his turmoil culminated in a sharp spike of arousal. As hot water coursed down his bare skin, Lex leaned with his hands against the cool tile of the wall, fighting the urge to give in to desire. "Don't think about it, don't even think about it, don't think about anything, don't think, don't think, don't think..." he chanted under his breath. His hands tightened to fists. "Damn it," he whispered. 

His body was going ahead without him, demanding that Lex give in. Blood pooled in his groin, and he felt himself growing stiff, untouched. He sucked in breath through his teeth. His whole body pulsed and pounded with emotion and arousal. It was overwhelming. Lex snaked a hand down to wrap around himself, familiar as breathing, and started quickly and grimly jerking himself. 

He tried not to think of anything while he did this. It was release, not some pathetic indulgence in fantasy. It was supposed to be purely physical, fulfilling a need his body had, like eating or drinking. Nothing else. 

Not this time. Perhaps because it was so soon afterward, but images of his confrontation with Jonathan dominated his mind. Jonathan yelling at him, sneering, turning away from Lex's calculated insults. His hands, tanned and strong and covered in fine golden hairs, so unlike Lex's own. Those hands on his hands, on his hips, solid and steadying. Jonathan's chest under his hands, their bodies pressed together in the rain. 

Lex came, startled and gasping, into his hand. Shuddering, he leaned against the tiled wall and let the water, still hot, wash the semen off his body. He felt almost physically ill, he was so disgusted with himself. Jerking off to images of Pa Kent? Jesus fucking Christ. That was seriously fucked up. When the weirdly appropriate notion of what Lionel would think surfaced in his brain, Lex knew he needed chemical sedation of some sort. Immediately. 

He stormed out of the shower, dried off in a frenzy of Egyptian cotton, threw on his robe, and stalked to the liquor cabinet in the corner of his bedroom. It had seldom been touched before; these days Lex rarely drank alone, and even then it was only a dignified Scotch or two in his office. 

He rummaged through the unfamiliar cabinet, bottles clanking as he jostled them, searching for something elusive. Finally, he pulled out a bottle of currant-flavoured vodka, as it seemed to be the strongest stuff in there. Settling in an armchair near a window, he poured and drank three shots without pausing. 

Twenty minutes later, the bottle was half-empty and Lex was thoroughly inebriated. Drinking on an empty stomach, he supposed, not to mention that he was out of practice from his Metropolis days. He slouched in the chair and pondered his current glassful. He could drink a shot for every time Jonathan Kent had insulted him. Or for every time Lex had managed to screw things up in Jonathan's eyes. He wondered if there was enough liquor in the mansion. Might as well drink a shot for every purple shirt in his wardrobe, or every car of his that had met a grisly end in Smallville. 

Lex snorted. Standing on unsteady legs, he downed the glass, then stumbled to the bed and collapsed on top of the covers. Damn, damn, damn, god fucking DAMN Jonathan Kent! Lex thought ... _knew_ he could handle anything. Between his family life, his personal life, and his business life, Lex had confronted and overcome almost every kind of adversity. He had faced down kings and CEOs, he had frightening control over the lives of thousands of workers and employees, he had handled both guns and contracts shoved in his face with poise. Why the hell was he unable to come to grips with one middle-aged Kansas farmer? What the hell was it that made Jonathan Kent as impossible for Lex to ignore as to please? 

Lex awoke early the next morning to a splitting headache and the sour taste of fermented currants in his mouth. He was no closer to figuring out what the hell was between himself and Jonathan, and now he had a hangover -- his first in many months -- to deal with. Groaning, he swung out of bed and staggered into the bathroom. Might as well get an early start on today's work. 

At least, Lex thought as he rummaged in his bathroom for some aspirin, today couldn't possibly be any worse than yesterday. 

* * *

At least, thought Jonathan as he loaded the last of the bags of feed onto the truck, today couldn't possibly be worse than yesterday. Martha and Clark were still giving him a wide berth, unsure why he was so grumpy but confident that the morning's chores would calm him down as they had in the past. 

Jonathan wasn't so sure. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with his (thankfully starch-free) hankie, he sighed. Lex Luthor was an anomaly in his mind. He usually knew how to deal with people, how to categorize them and respond appropriately. Most of the people Jonathan knew were the good guys -- they were the white hats, and Jonathan was friendly and open with them. A few people were black hats, usually because of some meteor mutation or other -- the enemies, to be defeated or incapacitated. 

Lex's color was grey, and Jonathan didn't have the faintest idea how to deal with him. Being friendly had blown up in his face. Being angry didn't solve anything, and made Jonathan feel inexplicably guilty. 

Jonathan sighed. There was just no dealing with some people. Actually, that seemed like the only appropriate response -- he would just not deal with Lex, ever again. Not an easy task in a small town, but Jonathan was certainly willing to put in the effort. After all there was no reason for Lex to seek him out. 

"Clark!" Jonathan called in the direction of the house. 

"Coming, Dad!" Clark trotted out of the house towards him. "You, um, feeling better now?" 

"Yeah." Jonathan smiled ruefully. "I promise not to bite your head off." 

"That's all I ask." Clark smiled widely. "I've got a list of things mom needs from the grocery store. That okay?" 

"Sure, son. We'll stop in town after the Pearsons'." 

The delivery was uneventful, with Clark doing most of the work unloading while Jonathan chatted with Frank Pearson about the recent storms. They drove back the long way so they could stop in town and pick up Martha's things, and decided to have a quick break at Lana's coffee shop. It had been a while since they'd had a good father-son chat, and Jonathan was eager to catch up with what was going on in Clark's life. 

"Hi Clark, Mr. Kent," Lana said cheerfully as she approached the table where they sat. "What can I get for you?" 

"Hi Lana," Clark said, smiling brightly at her. "I'll have a mocha, please." 

"Sure. Mr. Kent?" 

"Uh," Jonathan said as he glanced at the menu board with its staggering array of drink choices. "Can I get a regular coffee?" 

"I don't think they make that anymore," Lana deadpanned. 

"Wise guy," Jonathan smirked. "With sugar, but no milk, please." 

"No problem. I'll be right back with those." 

Jonathan leaned back in his chair. "So, Clark, anything exciting happen at school last week?" 

"Not really. I had an English test. On _Romeo and Juliet_." 

"How did you do?" 

"Okay. I didn't really like the play. I mean, I can't believe how stupid their families were, you know? Like, how can someone be so prejudiced and blind, just because of some stupid family feud? And it's the kids who have to pay for it. It wasn't really fair." 

"Oh, look. Our drinks are here," Jonathan said lamely. "Thanks, Lana." He sipped his coffee. Too much sugar. It figured. 

"I wasn't the only one who didn't like the play." Clark stared into the foam on top of his coffee. "This one girl in my class, Leigh. She had her own book of the play, with pictures and everything. Leigh said her sister made it for her before she left for college in England, when Leigh was just a kid. Anyway, she kept getting really worked up in class. She said that it was only fair for the leaders of the families to be put to death, since their pointless fighting had caused the deaths of their children. She was almost crying. It was pretty intense." 

Jonathan snorted. "Some people take stories entirely too seriously, Clark. They need to focus on the real world." 

"I suppose." Clark sipped his drink. "But isn't the point that stuff like that _can_ happen in the real world? Look at, well, look at you and Mr. Luthor." 

"Clark...." 

"Well, think about it, Dad! I mean, you hate Lex's dad, sure, and maybe you have a reason to. But you hate Lex too, and sometimes I think it's just as stupid and irrational as the Montagues and Capulets!" 

"Clark, that's enough! I know that Lex is your friend, but he's not a good person, alright?" 

"Dad, I know Lex can be stuck-up. When he gets in one of his moods.... You know," Clark said thoughtfully, "you two have more in common than you think." 

"I don't think so." 

"You do! You're both so stubborn when you think you're right. You both get angry when you don't understand something." Clark held Jonathan's gaze. "You're both really strong, but you can both be totally blind about people...." 

"I am nothing like him! Clark, Lex is... he's not a good man," Jonathan repeated. 

"Dad, he just wants you to like him. I think you could do him a lot of good if you'd just be a little nicer to him. Seriously." 

"I doubt that," Jonathan grumbled. 

"He could really use a good role model," Clark went on, echoing something Jonathan had thought only two days ago. "Come on. Give him a chance. You know you wouldn't get this upset about someone you'd really given up on." 

Jonathan sighed. 

"You know I'm right. And don't let him get snarky and try to push you away. He gets nervous, tries to distance himself from his emotions. It's annoying, but you have to be patient with him. Please, Dad? He's my best friend." 

"Clark, he may be your best friend, but I refuse to have anything to do with him. End of story." 

"Dad!" Clark was ready to press the issue, but just then a girl walked up to their table, staring disconcertingly at Jonathan. "Hi, Leigh," Clark greeted her. "What's up?" 

Leigh ignored Clark, fixing Jonathan with her pale green eyes. "Can't you see? You're hurting them so much," she said in a whispery voice. 

"What? Who?" asked Jonathan. 

"Always the innocent children suffer. I'll make you see. I'll stop you from hurting them any more ..." 

Jonathan found he was unable to look away from her eyes, pale green like ice. As brighter, glowing green seeped into her irises and flooded out her pupils, a small part of Jonathan's brain registered Clark grimacing in pain and falling away from the table, and that small part began shrieking for Jonathan's body to kick into fight-or-flight mode. The rest of his brain was awash in that neon green light, listening intently to Leigh's soft voice saying, "You're going to die now, and it will all be better. Just let it go ..." 

The neon green became misty and overtook everything else. It seemed so easy to just let go and relax into the welcoming emptiness. Jonathan felt himself go limp, and the green light turned grey around the edges.... 

* * *

As it turned out, it was very possible for today to be worse than yesterday. Lex ought to have known. 

Lionel shown up midmorning while Lex was working in his office. 

"Good morning, Lex," he said brightly as he strode into the room. "Hard at work, I see? A little early for you, isn't it?" 

"You know what they say, dad," Lex replied offhandedly. "Time is money." 

"Is that what they say?" Lionel mused, stroking his beard. "You know, son, I find it hard to accept that you actually believe that saying." 

"Oh?" 

"If you believe time to be legitimate tender, well, Lex, I think that yours has dropped in value considerably over the last few months." 

Lex eyed Lionel sharply. "Is that so." 

"Yes, Lex! Just think of all the time you have ... _invested_ here, in useless pursuits. The plant that is barely turning a profit, and your useless little coffee shop! Not to mention all the time you spend driving in your cars, chatting with your ... friends." Lionel walked over to stand behind Lex's chair. "Just think of how much more ... _valuable_ your time could be if you were to invest it in ..." Lionel trailed off suggestively. 

Mentally sighing, Lex rose to the bait. "In what, dad?" 

Lex tried not to cringe perceptibly as Lionel's creeping hands descended on his shoulders. "In me, son. In our relationship." 

"Dad, I believe our relationship consists of a series of sparring matches, physical and metaphorical. I don't see why investing any more time in petty bickering..." 

"It doesn't have to be that way Lex!" Releasing his grip on Lex's shoulder, Lionel leaned in front of Lex, one arm on the desk, the other on the back of the chair. "I know things," Lionel said more softly. "Things about your .. special research interests." 

Lex stiffened. "I have no idea what you're talking about." 

"Come on, Lex. You're a Luthor. Your curiosity burns bright as a flame. I can teach you to pursue it without getting burned. How to tame it and use it to fuel your aspirations." Lionel leaned in so close that Lex could feel his hair tickling his jaw. "Together, we can investigate the Kent family, find out what their tremendous secret is..." 

"No!" Lex hit Lionel's arm and spun in his chair to face him. "They have nothing to do with anything, Dad. They're my friends. That's all." 

"Why, Lex, what have I said to upset you?" Lionel was smiling like a feral Mona Lisa, holding his hands up as he backed away. "I know you've researched the son. I have information on the father and a personal link to the mother. Together, we could..." 

"Nothing, Dad. _We_ are not doing anything. Now get out." 

Lionel fixed Lex with his unnerving gaze. "Very well, son. I can't say I'm not disappointed. I'm hurt, Lex, that you choose to waste your energy and time here, rather than learning at my side ... yes, and even teaching me! I honestly believe that you are now in a position to teach some things to me. Oh, Lex," Lionel sighed, "if only you would let me stand at your side." 

"Just get out. Now." 

Lionel smirked. "It's your decision, Lex." He marched out of the room, hair and coattails swirling in his wake. 

Lex slammed his laptop shut. There was little chance that he could concentrate on work now. He stalked out to the garage. A drive would calm him down. 

After a very satisfying 45 minutes of speeding over Lowell County's few paved roads, Lex pulled into a spot in front of The Talon, more out of habit than because he really wanted a cappuccino. He stepped through the front door just in time to see Clark topple soundlessly from his chair. Jonathan, seated at the same table, was staring into the very green eyes of a teenage girl. No one else seemed to notice anything was amiss. 

Lex didn't stop to think. He bolted forward. "Jonathan!" he yelled. "Clark!" Before he could reach them, Jonathan slumped forward, unconscious. The girl turned her glowing eyes to Lex, and the half dozen other patrons turned to see what Lex was shouting about. 

"It's all right now," the girl stage-whispered to him. "I won't let his blindness destroy you." 

"What did you do to him?" Lex shouted. He shook Jonathan's shoulder, the man's body shaking limply beneath his hand. "Jonathan!" he shouted again. 

"Lex!" came a strangled cry from the other side of the table. Clark, his face twisted with effort, pulled himself up to look at Lex. 

Lex froze, unsure of what exactly was going on. The girl touched his shoulder, clutching it, and he pulled back with a jolt. "Don't you see?" she whispered. "You don't need to suffer for his sins any longer." 

"What did you do?" Lex yelled, panicked. Jonathan hadn't moved, and Clark couldn't even stand up. 

"I removed the source of the conflict," the girl said dreamily. "With it gone, the innocents will live happily ever after." 

"No!" shouted Lex. He lunged toward Jonathan's slumped body, placed his fingers on his neck to feel for a pulse. "Someone call an ambulance!" Lex was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and flung several feet away to land in a crumpled heap. 

"I can't let you do that," the girl whispered at Lex. "He needs to be removed from this life so that he can't do any more harm with his hatred. I know ... I learned from my book ... so many more will die if his prejudice lives on. This is the only way." 

Lex scrambled to his feet. "No," he repeated. The other patrons seemed to have fled the premises at the outbreak of violence. Lex noticed Lana cowering behind the bar, a phone clutched to her ear. Unfortunately, the girl seemed to notice at the same time. She ran to the bar in a blur, knocking the phone out of Lana's hand. Lana screamed. 

"You don't understand!" the girl howled hoarsely. "You must let him pass away! He is dangerous: his narrow-mindedness has more power to kill than any weapon! I can't let you interfere." The girl had fastened her hands around Lana's small throat, holding but not squeezing. Lex could see the green glow from her eyes on Lana's staring face. 

"Lana!" he shouted. Moving fast, he grabbed a heavy earthenware coffee cup from Jonathan's table and hurled it, coffee and all, at the girl's head. His aim was good and his arm was better -- the cup hit the girl's head with a crack, spilling coffee down her back. She shrieked in pain, letting go of Lana's neck. 

To Lex's relief, Lana didn't hesitate once the girl's concentration was broken. Lana grabbed the girl's head in her hands, pushed her thumbs into the girl's eye sockets and pressed*... 

Lex had to look away, but the girl's scream of agony rang in his ears. When he looked back, the girl had collapsed into a shaking heap on the ground, keening, her hands clutching at her bloody face. Lana had backed away, a look of blank horror on her face. 

"Lana!" Lex shouted, "get the phone and call an ambulance!" Lana didn't move. Clark had managed to get to his feet. Lex dug in his pocket, then tossed his cell phone to Clark. "Call for help, Clark. Your father is hurt." Clark nodded, still shaky and out of breath. 

Lex pulled Jonathan's unresisting form gently onto the floor. He wasn't responding, and was pale almost to the point of being grey. "Don't you dare die on me," Lex whispered hoarsely. Tilting Jonathan's head back, Lex put his ear to his mouth. He neither felt nor heard any sign of life. "Jesus," he whispered, before carefully sealing his mouth over Jonathan's and breathing into him. 

Jonathan's chest rose once and fell. Lex quickly shifted so he could deliver several hard pumps to Jonathan's chest. Hoping he didn't break any ribs, he moved back to Jonathan's mouth. The back of his mind registered Clark giving the ambulance directions and moving over to retrieve Lana and check on the incapacitated meteor mutant. The rest of his mind was focused on the man on the floor in front of him as Lex desperately tried to resuscitate him. He repeated the cycle of breathing into Jonathan's lungs and pumping Jonathan's chest with a shocking anxiety he had rarely felt, even when his own life was in danger. 

Finally, the miracle came. Jonathan began to cough and convulse. Lex gathered him in his arms, helping him to sit up. Kneeling on the floor, Lex held Jonathan while he re-learned how to breathe, rubbing Jonathan's back in soothing circles, whispering encouragement in his ear. It was as though Lex had forgotten that he never touched people, that he didn't comfort others, that it didn't matter to him if Jonathan Kent lived or died -- as though Lex had forgotten his own identity, his father's, and that of the man shaking in his arms on the floor of The Talon. For a moment, Lex was just a man offering comfort to a man he cared about, just a man expressing his relief at the safe passage of a loved one through danger, just a frightened young man whose emotions and responses were the same as any other man's. 

"Dad?" Clark, with Lana in tow, approached where Lex knelt with Jonathan. "Is he okay?" Clark asked Lex, eyes wide and worried. 

"Yeah," Lex breathed. "He'll be fine, I think," he added more clearly. "Is the ambulance on its way?" 

"They said it'd be here in minutes," Clark replied. As if on cue, the wailing of sirens could be heard in the distance. Lex sighed, reluctant to relinquish Jonathan to anything that was not his touch. He was amazed at his own tenderness. Loosening his hold, he moved back an inch or two to allow Clark room to kneel beside them, to look into his father's face and touch him, to give and receive comfort and reassurance -- things that were slowly reasserting themselves as foreign and forbidden in Lex's mind. 

"Dad," Clark whispered, touching Jonathan's face. "Can you hear me?" 

Jonathan's eyelids fluttered. A groan escaped his lips. Lex could feel shudders coursing through the man's muscled frame, still cradled mostly in Lex's arms. "Clark?" Jonathan rasped. "Son?" 

"I'm here, Dad," Clark told him. He took both of Jonathan's hands in his own. 

Jonathan lurched forward, out of Lex's grip, practically threw himself into Clark's arms. Lex stood up, as dignified as he could, stepping away from Jonathan's strong arms going around Clark's shoulders. 

The ambulance came, and the police. Lex answered questions, while the paramedics wheeled away the meteor girl. Jonathan went too, with Clark accompanying him. Lana, not quite recovered from her shock, stammered answers to the sheriff's questions before being taken to the station. Lex promised her lawyers and counsellors, trying to ease some of the horror in her eyes. 

Eventually, Lex was able to leave. At the mansion, he retreated to his office. Calls to the Kent farm went unanswered, as Lex knew they would. A quick call to Chloe Sullivan revealed that the meteor girl's abilities may have come about due to extensive reading of a book illustrated with meteorite-laced ink. Lex snorted to himself. He wondered how Chloe thought the meteor-rock had insinuated itself into the girl's body via reading. And who put meteor rocks in _ink_? He was too tired to ponder it himself. 

Discreet but forceful inquiries at the hospital revealed that the girl had been taken to Metropolis for emergency surgery on her ruined eyes. Jonathan Kent was in stable condition -- his entire body had apparently shut down for no reason, as if obeying a command that countered the body's own hardwired survival instincts. The doctors were baffled, or would have been if this had been anywhere other than Smallville. At any rate, Jonathan was expected to make a full recovery. 

Hearing this eased something in Lex's chest. Jonathan would be fine. 

Lex wasn't feeling particularly fine himself. He could still feel the lingering grogginess of a hangover, combined with the aches from having been tossed around by the meteor girl at The Talon. He was also emotionally exhausted, having dealt with Lionel and Jonathan in quick succession, not to mention seeing his usually timid business partner gouge out someone's eyes. 

Despite it being the middle of the afternoon, Lex crawled into his bed, under the covers. Knowing his servants wouldn't bother him, he indulged himself by hugging one of his pillows tightly to his chest. He breathed deeply and tried to relax. 

Lex stared out the window at the afternoon sunlight, and at some point fell asleep. When he dreamed, it was a dream not of images or events, but of feeling. In his dream, Lex felt acceptance and forgiveness. He felt love, pulsing in him and around him, like salt water. Surrounded and filled. Held, owned, cherished. 

When he woke, it was evening, and the dream faded like smoke on the wind. It left in its wake an urgent desire to go the hospital and see Jonathan Kent, right now. 

Lex threw on clothes, and was in the car and halfway to the hospital before he was really awake enough to think about it. He knew he would be allowed in; he was more than willing to pull rank, and arbitrary rules had never mattered to him much anyway. 

Lex steadily made his way through the less-than-adequate security and through a veritable armada of intimidating night nurses. Jonathan's room, like most of the rooms at the Smallville Medical Center, had a large window to the hallway. Lex stopped and gazed through the window. Jonathan lay on a hospital bed, looking healthy and utterly peaceful as he slept. 

Beside him on the bed Martha Kent was asleep, fully clothed, snuggled into the crook of her husband's arm, her hand splayed on his chest like she owned it. 

On the other side of the bed, Clark sat in a chair, not sleeping, gazing at his parents, Jonathan's hand clasped tightly in his. 

Lex halted, and stared. He leaned against the wall behind him, watching the tableau. Clark hadn't seen him, and Lex drew no attention to himself. He just watched, watched the slow rise and fall of Martha's hand on Jonathan's chest, watched Clark's thumb stroke over the back of Jonathan's hand, watched Jonathan's eyes move erratically behind closed lids. What did Jonathan dream about? Lex's dreams were of things that were impossible in his life, but what could be impossible in Jonathan's life? 

He stood there for long minutes. There was no room for him in that picture. One more scene of family love and acceptance that Lex could not share. One more thing that his money could not buy, nor his cleverness gain. 

Lex smirked. His thoughts were getting entirely too maudlin. It was time to leave. 

He drove back to the mansion at breakneck speed. Once home, he headed straight to the master bathroom, stripped off his clothes and stepped into a deliciously warm shower. 

This time, as Lex's mind wandered and his body took interest, Lex did not hesitate or feel guilty. He took his cock in hand and stroked languorously. He closed his eyes and leaned into the warm flow of water down his back. 

In his mind, he holds Jonathan down, pinned by the wrists against that godawful truck he drives. Lex is fucking him, slowly, and Jonathan is groaning, his hips jerking back into Lex of their own volition. 

"That's it," Lex whispers. "You like that, don't you? You belong to me and you know it." 

Jonathan groans and writhes. Lex grabs him by the hair, digging his fingers deeply into its rich golden pelt, pulling his head back. "Behave," Lex whispers, "and I'll make it good for you." 

Lex increases his pace, grinding into Jonathan's ass, holding him now by the hips. Jonathan is groaning and thrusting back helplessly. "Please, Lex," he begs, "please...." 

Lex takes pity on him, on his lover, his victim, so he reaches around to jerk Jonathan off in time with his thrusts. He can feel Jonathan's cock, heavy and thick in his hand, can feel the way he hardens even more before pulsing all over Lex's hand. 

In the shower, Lex came with a satisfying ferocity. He let himself enjoy the aftershocks, smiling. He soaped himself up and rinsed off, drying himself luxuriously before getting dressed. 

He would drive to Metropolis tonight. Maybe Lionel's offer still stood. 

1 


End file.
